


And everywhere she goes, a million dreams of love surround her

by skylabluthor



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Smut, I basically suck at thinking, I suck at thinking possible plots, It's mostly cute but second chapter will be smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylabluthor/pseuds/skylabluthor
Summary: Not a Hizzie Hogwarts AU this time.Lizzie helps her sister write something for the Mystic Falls University's newspaper for Valentine's Day and then ends up emailing a random stranger who read what she wrote.She finds herself thinking about what love really is or what should be and in that journey she finds, well, Hope Mikaelson.(I really tried with this summary I'm so sorry)
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman
Comments: 14
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

_Love was, at the best of times, accidental. Two people would find each other in a sea of hearts and souls, and they would instantly recognize each other as the two halves that make a whole._

_But how was one supposed to find love when, at some point throughout humanity’s journey towards progress, each and every individual became hyperaware of others and started building fake lives, personalities, friends, relationships? How was one supposed to look into someone’s eyes and know they were meant to be together when people hardly ever took their eyes off their phones anymore? How are we supposed to find love when all we look for is approval? And it is addicting._

_I find hard to believe love is accidental. We build our relationships, our way of loving and accept different ways of being loved according to society’s standards and based on what we consider appropriate to share. We censor our own lives. We choose because our image, our personality, our future is based, precisely, on choices and there is no other way to move forward. We deceive ourselves into thinking we don’t have a choice. But we do. We are constantly making choices. We are always in control, even if sometimes the consequences trick us into thinking we are not._

_So no, love is not accidental, it is circumstantial. Based on what we want to show and what we want to accept. Love is not some celestial event waiting to happen. Love is not a cosmic battle cry of justice that means you deserve good things. Love is a social construct and therefore a conscious choice._

_But I am also interested in what we define as love._

_Shakespeare’s idea of love was, in my opinion, built around an aesthetic. It is based on beauty and it is weak in the hands of time. It is bold and it is sometimes forbidden, but it is, nevertheless, beautiful. It is this idea which perished. And whatever love may be, it was never described as ugly. Because if it brings you pain it is enjoyable and if it brings you happiness it proves a point._

_Love is oftentimes perceived as something which nurtures our relationships and journey through life and there are hundreds of thousand ways of loving, as Emily Brontë would suggest, even the lack of love is a manifestation of it._

_Whatever love can be, whether it is pain, or happiness, is never ugly. Because that would ruin the already established idea that the ulterior purpose in life is to find love. But who are we to say it isn’t ugly? Who are we to say love is an unstoppable force when, in reality, we are constantly reasoning who we love and who we love not?_

_\----------------_

Lizzie Saltzman walked down the halls of Mystic Falls University as if she owned the place. Wearing shorts that made her legs look even longer and carrying her blonde platinum hair like a cascade out of a fairy tale over a white shirt with traces of blue that matched her eyes. That’s what Lizzie Saltzman claimed to be. Pure aesthetic. A piece of work carefully made with the most sophisticated hands. Perhaps at some point she believed that herself.

She walked into her fist lecture. She was a psychology major. One more year and she could finally leave that hell of a town she despised so much. She sat right next to a girl she knew from previous years, she was a philosophy major, commonly known as Hope Mikaelson.

If you asked Lizzie, Hope was one of the most hardworking people she had ever seen. Not that she actually paid much attention to everyone else, really. She didn’t care. But something in her subconscious made Lizzie remember small details about the auburn-haired girl. Lizzie noticed the insignificant gestures. Like the fact that she never spoke to other classmates. Every time she looked at her, Hope’s eyes were fixed in the class or down in her notes, writing as fast as she could.

She imagined Hope’s handwriting must be messy because of how fast she used to write. She imagined that when she did it at normal speed, it was very neat and round and pretty. She also pictured the chaos of her thoughts probably reflected pretty well on her notes. Kind of like hers. She allowed herself to smile slightly at that.

Hope then must have felt Lizzie’s eyes on her, because she turned around and Lizzie averted her eyes and blushed. She could swear she saw a small smile form in Hope’s lips.

They had never talked besides a few exchanged words out of mere politeness or simply acknowledgement. Hope had borrowed Lizzie’s notes once because, apparently, she sucked at history.

Lizzie was about to get up, too distracted in her own thoughts that she tripped and fell taking all her notes and books to the floor with her.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” In a second, Hope was kneeling right beside her. Holding a laugh.

“Yeah, I’m okay… Are you seriously trying not to laugh right now?” And Hope almost lost it.

“Sorry, nervous laughter, I guess. I can’t help but laugh when people fall.” And she let out a chuckle and gave Lizzie a bright smile as if trying to cover up the fact that despite the initial worry, she found the situation very funny.

She didn’t know why, but she smiled too. _Laugh is contagious._

“At least I fell with dignity.” And Hope raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Really? Is that what you get out of this?”

“I could have broken a bone or something extra and tragic. That would’ve been embarrassing.”

Hope blinked. This had to be the longest conversation they’ve ever had.

“Well Elizabeth, I’m glad that wasn’t the case. Here. Your things.” Hope had quickly picked up Lizzie’s stuff scattered all around the floor and handed them back with the same smile she had initially.

“Thank you.” As Hope was about to walk out of the classroom, Lizzie couldn’t help but call for her and ask Hope to call her Lizzie. _Please._

_\----------------_

“Lizzie, do you think this whole love theme is good for the column? I know I said I wanted something themed for Valentine’s Day, but this is…” Josie said while sitting up next to her on the couch reading the piece of paper Lizzie handed in.

Lizzie lived with Josie, her twin sister, who was majoring in journalism and really should get a life besides focusing so much on Lizzie. Of course Josie had The Malivore, the University’s newspaper. But since she had been going on and off with her now ex girlfriend, she has been showing unusual interest in Lizzie’s life. And that included dragging the blonde to her own activities. 

“I mean… don’t you think it’s a bit bold? People love those kinds of subjects, but I know you and this isn’t going to end well.”

“Josie, you asked me to write something as, and I quote, ‘a one time thing’ for The Malivore and so I did. It’s not like I will have to do it every damn week so relax.” Lizzie said rolling her eyes.

“I sometimes wish I knew how you can have such a negative view about love, or life for that matter.” She said ignoring her sister’s bad mood. “It was one day Lizzie, one day where you had to put your grumpiness aside and try not to be the grinch who stole Christmas.”

“I don’t know, Jo.” She said taking her eyes off the tv to look at Josie. “I have never been in love, so I guess I can’t think of anything other than what feels logical to me. If anything, I wrote something honest. Think of it as a great opportunity for people to finally… think. However reads it anyway.”

“Have you never cried over anyone or felt heartbroken?” Josie questioned, suddenly coming to realize that she must have only seen Lizzie cry over someone when they were even barely old enough to understand what a crush was.

“And why would you assume that love is defined by the pain someone caused you? See, Jo? This is kind of proving a point.” And with that she got up, got herself a glass of water and went to her bed.

That was probably the first time she ever thought about love per se. She had her fair number of lovers growing up, ‘mistakes’ as she usually called them. She was always being rather indifferent to the people who seemed to show even the slightest sign of interest. And Lizzie wasn’t a bad person, but she felt like some things, even in a world of make believe, were meant to remain genuine. And she was not one to pretend she cared about others when she didn’t. Perhaps that was her best and worst trait.

_What is so ugly about love is how everyone loves the suffering. And for what?_

_\------------_

A few editions of The Malivore later, the unexpected happen. She got an email. From someone who had read the article she had written a few weeks back.

_“J.S.,_

_I read your take on love, I thought it was a bold move, to spread such a controversial opinion. If anything, I am pleased and impressed. I see what you were trying to get at._

_Personally, I have always thought of love as raindrops. Like the silent, almost imperceptible drops you barely notice until you’re soaked or until you feel them in contact with your skin. Like the grey clouds that announce a storm is coming._

_I think the problem isn’t much about society’s dynamics nowadays but the construct that we tend to see the problem itself as something greater than ourselves. Maybe, just maybe, we think we are uncapable of finding love because of our own judgments about love._

_Don’t you think that, perhaps, it isn’t until we consciously define it as love that we are in love? If so, then love had been there all along._

_I do not think love can be ugly, can we really say anything that happens in our lives is ugly? If not, then why should love be ugly?_

_I hope you have the time to read this, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts._

_Sincerely,_

_The Littlest Wolf.”_

Lizzie read and reread the email more times that she could even dared to admit. She has seen movies, she has read books. Perhaps she underestimated the readers’ views on the topic but she wasn’t impressed. She was, however, taken aback by the fact that someone was willing to argue about it.

_Isn’t love what you really make out of it? A judgment based on your own life experiences and expectations?_

She debated whether or not to keep the conversation going with this Littlest Wolf person. _One has one opinion and suddenly everyone has to question it._

By the end of the day, she was getting ready for that Valentine’s Day party that Josie and the rest of the people who worked in The Malivore were throwing at the old mill in campus. At some point, she became fully aware of the laptop that was on her kitchen table, and Lizzie felt like it was screaming for it to reopen her mailbox to reply.

Once dressed and satisfied with her look she poured a glass of wine and sat in front of the computer. Littlest Wolf’s email popped up again, inviting. It was a challenge, Lizzie thought. Or perhaps somewhere in Lizzie’s mind it sounded like one. She typed a response not wanting to give this person the satisfaction to have the last say on it.

_“Littlest Wolf,_

_I was surprised anybody would take time out of their probably busy schedules to talk about this. About love, of all topics. If you ask me, I am under the impression that people are far more interested in who is hooking up with who, the menu for the cafeteria next week, or the University’s take on feminism._

_Perhaps I misjudged everyone’s general interest in love. After all, isn’t it what we all secretly crave, while busying ourselves with the banal distractions of this generation?_

_How can you be so sure that is what love is? How can you not think that, perhaps, we should start redefining the idea of love based on today’s habits? Time and space, both construct our opinions and judgment._

_To me, love is an illusion, a deceiving way of thinking that that is what gives us meaning when in reality we are moved by far greater things, such as ambition, recognition, dreams or an endless list of things we will eventually be able to touch, or so to speak. Love is a concept we have made up to voice our deepest desires and to find along the way a reason to wake up every day. In any case, why would it be so hard to consider that love could be something ugly as well? If only we allowed ourselves to take off the veil that blind us from the crushing truth…_

_I am even more genuinely intrigued by your pseudonym. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone be called that here. And I know everything that goes on in Campus. Do you have a name? I feel like I am giving a stranger a pet name._

_Sincerely,_

J.S.”

She could blame it to Valentine’s Day, the boldness and the dismissive way she replied to this stranger. But she thought it was fun. Because after all, Lizzie would spend way too many hours a day trying to read people and this, this was something she could have never guessed. Someone out there, somewhere, cared enough to reply. She laughed to herself. At some point she felt like high school all over again, the thrilling wait for a message. The overwhelming insecurity of an opinion. _The self-consciousness._ And perhaps she wanted to know who this person was. Just maybe. Because she would rather have these conversations over coffee but as she prevented, nothing real happened anymore.

Lizzie was never a big fan of parties. She used to go out sporadically during her first years because she wanted to fit in. Until she realized there was nowhere to fit into, really. There were people everywhere. It was one of those nights of February where the air burned cold. Where the night seemed to last an eternity and not even the hot shots of whatever it was that she was drinking could fix.

Part of Lizzie Saltzman’s contradiction was how she seemed to be so uninterested in big social events for someone so stylish, so made for… others, some would say. And part of Lizzie Saltzman’s mystery was how, in reality, she was who she was for her own pleasure and nothing more. Lizzie Saltzman on her journey to become herself time and time again was reminded of how broken she was. And it was that disappointment that motivated her enough to mask her flaws and seem strong even at the expense of her own happiness.

Lizzie Saltzman knew herself reasonably well. Or so she thought. Or maybe at some point she stopped thinking when she saw Hope Mikaelson in the crowd and for a moment she swore Hope was looking at her too.

She drowned her drink, not taking her eyes off Hope who was evidently walking towards her.

“I would think someone like you is in her element here, but why do I get the feeling that you’re too hoping for the night to be over?” She said sitting on the bench right next to the blonde.

“And why do you exactly mean by ‘someone like me’?” Lizzie said half smiling, looking at Hope.

“Popular, sometimes bitchy, oftentimes mad, always sweet. Mesmerizingly pretty.” Hope replied looking at Lizzie as she said the last part.

“Is this what you usually do? You are quiet and proper in the halls and in class, but then you come to parties and a make move on girls? I should’ve guessed.”

“You think this is me making a move on you? And for someone who seems so above it all, you do pay way too much attention to me.” _When did she get so close?_

Leslye Walton wrote once that love made us fools. Perhaps love turned on the switch of our own inherent foolishness. Perhaps people blame love for it because it is easier. Perhaps, love is the only outstanding thing in our conscious minds, and we fool even ourselves by thinking love is the only thing there ever was.


	2. Chapter 2

_Love is lust. Because otherwise, what is the difference between a completely platonic relationship, from something… more?_

Lizzie Saltzman could blame the alcohol for their first kiss. She could blame her hypersensitive skin for linking the way Hope’s hands roamed through her body like she was meant to touch her.

She wasn’t that drunk, not really. She was sober enough to consent whatever happened after Hope asking her a million times. She imagined Hope asked everyone. And for some reason she wondered how many people Hope had been with. But not for long, as she felt her back pressed to the wall and Hope’s body pressed against hers.

She moaned at the aggressiveness in contrast to the usual quietness and the newfound charming side of Hope Mikaelson.

“Hope, we should…” But whatever came next was silenced by the shorter girl’s lips on hers. And what a beautiful way to be silenced that was.

She could get used to this.

“Let’s take this inside.” Lizzie said after the broke the kiss, panting.

If love did not exist, perhaps lust would do just fine. Perhaps people would often mistake the romantic idea of a partner with their desperate need for human closeness, with the most primal need of heat and proximity to someone else.

“Touch me, Hope.” She said taking Hope’s hand and guiding it south, close to where she needed her the most.

“So bossy…” Hope smirked. And Lizzie may have been a little bit drunk but the way Hope’s eyes turned suddenly dark told her she wanted that just as much.

“Let’s play a game. Let’s see how long you can last before you beg for me to fuck you.”

And Lizzie was gone. She could have come right there. And for someone who apparently drank just as much, Hope seemed to be in total control of her own ache for… Lizzie.

Because Lizzie was sober enough to know one thing. In that moment. In her own bed. Hope Mikaelson wanted her too.

“Be a good girl and spread your legs for me, baby.” When did Hope get on top or her?

She took Lizzie’s clothes and underwear off and was now admiring the blonde beauty in front of her. She could get used to this sight, this wonder. It was so good it was scary.

_Love wasn’t just a flame, as some claimed. Love was a forest fire even before it burned down everything in its way. Love is a fire waiting to start._

She finally touched her. Right there. Right in her most sensitive spot. It was almost imperceptible for it sent electricity through Lizzie’s body.

“Hope…” Lizzie started but didn’t want to give Hope the satisfaction. She tried again and again saying Hope’s name like a plea. Hoping the girl playing with her clit would take pity on her.

“If there is something you want, baby, ask nicely.” Hope said sliding a finger oh so slowly.

“I want…” she moaned at Hope’s finger working inside her.

“Say it, Elizabeth. Say the word and I will make you finally mine.” She said burying her finger inside Lizzie once again.

“I won’t…” But she was interrupted by another moan as Hope pinched one of her nipples. Her finger still in her. “Fuck, Hope.”

Hope kissed her again. This time, she forced her tongue into Lizzie’s mouth in an outburst of dominance as she removed her finger and draw circles with her thumb in Lizzie’s clit.

“Beg me, Elizabeth. Beg me to make you mine. To fuck you until you can’t walk.” Lizzie couldn’t handle it anymore.

_Maybe, just maybe, people oftentimes compared love with fire because of the burning ache of lust._

And Lizzie gave up. Because she needed Hope. No, she wanted Hope.

“Please Hope! Please just fuck me already. Make me yours. I’m so wet for you. I’m yours already. Please!” And Hope kissed her once again before setting between Lizzie’s legs.

And the rest is a fog in Lizzie’s mind. Not because of the alcohol. She was practically sober already. But because the pleasure was too much. And Hope knew what was doing. The next morning, she will have time to dive deeper into how Hope was so good at that.

The last thing she remembers is Hope’s tongue sliding in an out of her until she came back from her much needed orgasm. That she remembers. As well as the look in Hope’s eyes as she watched her come. The way she also held her hand to keep her grounded. It was a small gesture of comfort Lizzie didn’t know she needed, and she also didn’t know why Hope would think she needed it.

_Love is more than lust. Perhaps love didn’t need lust to be love and it could exist entirely on its own, perhaps she was wrong, and there has been an ounce of love in lust all along._

The next morning the blonde woke up to an empty apartment. No traces of Hope as if she had never been there. No signs of Josie either. _She must have spent the night with Satan_. Lizzie winced.

But her mind was somewhere else. She realized that her thoughts must have gone to wherever Hope was. She was naked, in her own bed, after having a one night stand with a certain Hope Mikaelson and the circumstances really it weren’t that bad, if only the other girls absence didn’t make her feel a certain kind of way. As if something was now missing. No, as if she, even for just one moment, had had something she wanted and that something simply slipped through her fingers.

She pushed her thoughts aside and opened her computer to work on yet another essay she needed to finish if she wanted to finally get her degree. It all felt overwhelming then, the responsibility, Hope Mikaelson, her dreams. And perhaps the longing. Because there was something more, clearly something else was buried underneath and she remembered for some reason The Littlest Wolf. Perhaps the only person who seemed to pay attention to the bigger picture in life. The only one who didn’t live day by day in ignorance in this mad world.

And yes, maybe Lizzie Saltzman was slightly bipolar, a bit quick to judge people and things, a bit slow to realize that the people she wants don’t usually like her back, a little uninterested anyway in anyone other than herself, and Josie, and her mother. But she was also observant, and over the years she liked to believe, perhaps foolishly, that she had developed a sixth sense when it came to people. She spent so much time over analysing herself that she thought she knew all there was to know about how people her age worked.

In her mailbox there was a response. From two hours ago. From the person she perhaps wanted to hear, or read, more about the most. And something in her felt conflicted. Because again, something was missing, like a foggy memory she could barely recall. Moments in time, precisely that night.

_“Dear J.S.,_

_Coming up with an answer as to why I would take my time to talk about this made me realize that you may have a point. We go on with our lives longing for the deepest, more important things, yet ignoring them in our day to day lives. We spent so much time waiting for something, like love, to knock on our doors when in reality we avoid even bringing it to the conversation._

_And that made me realize, perhaps we are asleep, numb, until we find love and acknowledge it as such. I am not sure what love really is. I have never been in love. Not really. Perhaps that is why I understood so well what you wrote. But I am starting to think now that I am in love, and I see things differently. I choose to believe it exists, worthy in its beauty and ugliness, as you would say. Maybe in its bitterness as well._

_I haven’t always been good at expressing my thoughts or emotions. I have never considered myself as somebody who could be right for anybody else other than myself, and not even myself. Perhaps that is what love is. Insecurity, silence, lust, longing. Love exists in all things and it doesn’t. It’s everything for those who see it and nothing for those who don’t._

_There are a few things I am certain of, contrary to popular belief. But there has to be something remotely similar to love if not love itself that we find at some point and call ‘love’, because after all love is different for everybody._

_Perhaps you think you know about love, but do you? Does anybody, for that matter? We know so much and so little._

_As for the name… Maybe that is something I should reveal over coffee, if you are interested._

_Love,_

_The Littlest Wolf”_

“Love, The Littlest Wolf” Lizzie read out loud. Did this person just ask her out? Did this person know who she was? Did she want to know who Littlest Wolf was?

For some reason, the way this person expressed their thoughts felt familiar. If Lizzie had to describe this stranger as anything anyone could be, would be stubborn. Lizzie loved a challenge. And something in the sweet way their words seemed to fill the body of an email felt comforting. And so, she added that to the list of things she will deal with later, or never, but she was feeling generous, so later.

Because she didn’t want to get coffee with this person, did she? _Yes, you do. No, I don’t. And what if I do? But you would rather…_

Her eyes scanned her apartment, only to fix her gaze on the bed and the sheets that witnessed Hope Mikaelson bringing heaven to Earth for Lizzie Saltzman. She thought of the many times she had paid attention to Hope. She thought of the many times Hope went unnoticed to her, too. 

She walked towards the bed again, she dragged her fingertips through the pillow Hope had used in an attempt to know the exact moment she woke up and left. Lizzie wondered if she regretted it as soon as she opened her eyes, or if she had been staring at the blonde sleep until the realization hit her and decided to leave. She was uneasy and her fingers burned against the sheets. Later.

But then she saw a small piece of paper written in a neat handwriting that seemed to be everything Lizzie Saltzman thought – and didn’t think- it would be.

“Lizzie,

I apologize for leaving so abruptly.

I hope you have a good day.

Hope.”

And for the first time in years, Lizzie didn’t know what to think. It was a safe note. She thought. She was being considerate enough to leave a note and yet, since when one has to congratulate someone for their consideration? It was thoughtful, but she could have stayed. They could have had breakfast. They could have talked. They could have done everything Lizzie Saltzman didn’t know she wanted to do with Hope Mikaelson.

As usual, Lizzie Saltzman’s thoughts were a contradiction. She even thought her perception of things was too, because of this. Time and time again she would try and gain some perspective and this time was no exception. She had been the Hope to someone’s Lizzie more than once. And now, she didn’t know what being the Lizzie to her Hope actually meant. Even if the equation was as simple as that, she ran out of answers. She ran out of actions. And she felt lonely and her emotions were beyond confusing. They were scary. Like one of those monsters in black and white movies and no matter how fast you could run, there was no escape.

She was sitting on her bed now, looking for comfort in all the absent things. Perhaps lust had been the closest to love she ever felt. And perhaps she felt that with Hope. If only she knew. If only love could be something tangible or at least more concrete, she would feel sure and safe. No matter how deep in her mind she looked, she knew love and lust were not the same, and that was relieving. But she also knew love was not synonyms with certainty either and that wasn’t as comforting.

The whole weekend went by, and Lizzie’s emotions were all over the place contained by the even more overwhelming idea of a Josette Saltzman worrying about her. Monday came too fast for the both of them. For Josie, well let’s just say Lizzie had to spend the weekend hearing all about Satan’s big gesture to get her back, which, of course, did not work. But it totally did.

Josie was happy and, if anything, Lizzie should be content, at the end of the day, that was all she genuinely cared about. And she was started to get annoyed by how much time Josie spent with her. _Because she spent time with me and not the other way around._

Lizzie Saltzman walked through the halls of Mystic Falls University once again, like she owned the place. Only this time, it seemed to her like she didn’t. Because two days ago she had slept with Hope Mikaelson and the crushing feeling of dread that still washed over her was enough to make her feel small and fragile like a broken piece of pottery.

True to her name and herself, she walked into the classroom, feeling like the prettiest and most intelligent girl around. Classic Lizzie Saltzman attitude. Who knew deep down there was a girl full of insecurities, mad, crazy and even if she wouldn’t admit it, broken.

“You and I, after class. We’re talking.” She said as she sat next to Hope again.

“Good morning to you too, Elizabeth.” And Lizzie frowned, because everyone called her Lizzie.

One is constantly in control. People deceive themselves by thinking they do not have a choice because it may be easier to blame the universe and its funny tricks than themselves.

There is no such thing as love, but if there was, one would have a choice, because everything is rational and selfish.

Lizzie wrote something like that for the article. _That goddamn article._ If it wasn’t for it, she wouldn’t be constantly trying to find answers. She thought she had them all, or at least she was satisfied with what she believed was her truth. Until the anonymous opinionated troll happened. Until she started thinking about all the times she noticed Hope Mikaelson. Until she slept with her. Until she spent the whole weekend trying to understand what happened.

“You’re not going anywhere Mikaelson.” Lizzie crossed her arms and Hope stood there, keeping her distance.

“About the other night…”

“Whatever shitty excuse you’re going to give me, save it.” She said annoyed. “I don’t care that we spent the night together, Hope.” And maybe, she now felt stupid… because that is what people did. Because this proved her point. And who was she to be mad at Hope for something she knew so well? She wasn’t mad. She was hurt.

“You were drunk, I’m shouldn’t have…” And as Lizzie was about to say something, Hope spoke again “Will you please let me finish a sentence?!” And Lizzie waited.

“I know what you are going to say. We both had too much to drink and I shouldn’t have even kissed you in that state, it’s just, you looked so beautiful and kissable…” Hope began, as she saw Lizzie raise an eyebrow and stopped herself from embarrassing herself.

“My point is, I wanted to kiss you. And I wasn’t sure you would want me there in the morning, I didn’t want to be there to see the regret in your face as you remembered everything that happened. I left you a note hoping you wouldn’t be upset. I may have been wrong.”

Lizzie didn’t know whether she left relieved or hold onto her initial anger. She knew perhaps too well how that felt. Like she was out of place. And once again in the presence of Hope Mikaelson, she thought maybe they were feeling the same way.

The blonde remembered then a quote from Oscar Wilde, ‘where there is no love, there is no understanding’. And she wondered then if the same worked backwards. She wonder if there could ever exist a kind of love so great that it could be based solely on understanding. She wondered then what word would be the perfect one to describe love if a universal, almost cosmic, version of it existed.

She didn’t know why, but she understood Hope. Strangely so, this had been Lizzie’s first thought that morning. Because something deep down was telling her to stay calm. Because something in Hope’s note told her that maybe she did care, even if she was unimpressed by the gesture. Because something in her told her that she had known Hope Mikaelson even before she came into her life.

Lizzie was brought back from her thoughts by the smaller auburn-haired girl as she turned to leave. She must have misread Lizzie’s silence. And Lizzie knew then that maybe she spent too much time in her own head. Maybe the maddest thing about Lizzie Saltzman was how complex her thoughts were, she painted her mind like a maze and every day she would change the right path to the way out.

Something in her soul told her that she would regret it if she let Hope walk away. Like something, something similar to a thing she couldn’t touch or like a memory that she was uselessly trying to hold in her hands.

“Hope?” She called, still uncertain as the girl turned around, clearly surprised the other would say anything else. She waited for Lizzie’s words to come out, whatever she wanted to say. And Lizzie saw the tiredness in her eyes even if she was a few feet away. She saw Hope’s body language and it reminded the blonde of herself two days ago, bracing herself at the thought of losing something that was never hers. But from what Lizzie recalled of their night together, it was different for Hope, even if it was for just one ephemeral moment.

“Would you like to grab a coffee with me, sometime?” And the way Hope smiled washed away all her previous internal conflicts.

“Is this what you usually do? You are quiet and proper at parties, but then you attend to class and make moves on girls? I should’ve guessed.” She smirked, remembering their conversation at the party.

“Next weekend, Mikaelson. I’ll let you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean I did warn y'all in the tags that there would be smut so don't yell at me... or do? 
> 
> I kind of wanted Lizzie's feelings to be messy though (as usual) so please don't yell at me for that either... or do?
> 
> Leave comments if you want or find me on twitter @skylabluthor :) 
> 
> Also, thank you for the comments in the previous chapter, seriously they're very much appreciated 
> 
> I hope everyone's staying safe <3

**Author's Note:**

> It was raining today and for some reason while I was working I thought "love can sometimes be like raindrops"
> 
> Then, this happened. It's one messy fanfic of different takes on love as Lizzie falls for Hope. But it's not progressive as in like a straight line in my head. It goes back and forth. I guess my mind works that way
> 
> You may probably want to yell at me so you can do it in the comments, or on twitter @skylabluthor


End file.
